


dogs and wolves

by Citlalicue



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, F/F, F/M, Magic, Strong Female Characters, Witches, magical au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citlalicue/pseuds/Citlalicue
Summary: “Let us, therefore, go against them, trusting boldly to good fortune. Let us show them that they are hares and foxes trying to rule over dogs and wolves”In which a bit of power changes the game.





	1. I.I

The table had been dragged outside for the monthly picnic. Mary had helped set up the places, and was sitting down giggling with some of her companions when the Mother Superior called for silence.

“Let us say grace,” began the Mother Superior, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

The girls all made the sign of the cross, and began silent prayer. Looking up after finishing, Mary made eye contact with one of the sisters. She offered her a smile, quickly dropping it as the sister continued staring, her mouth falling open. Mary’s eyes dropped to the spoon in the middle of the porridge, and shot straight back to the sisters face, widening when she saw the blood appearing on her habit. Sound got caught in Mary’s throat. The young girl sitting next to her didn't have that problem, and when she lifted her head from prayer, and caught sigh of the sister, she screamed.

The whole table sprung into action. The nuns converged on Mary, pulling her back from the table, pushing the plate away from her.

“Did you eat anything?” demanded one of the nuns, “Did you touch any food?”

Mary’s hands came up to her mouth, and all she could do was shake her head. The rest of the table was still in chaos, and Mary could feel her knees buckling. Before she could slide to the ground, the Mother Superior pulled her back to the convent, into her office. As Mary sank into the chair in front of the desk, she kept her eyes on her hand, focusing on her breathing. When she calmed down, she looked up at the Mother Superior. Her aged face was calm in its sorrow.

“What was that? What happened?” Mary breathed out.

The Mother’s face wrinkled in pity “Mary, you are the Queen of Scotland. You are always at risk. Sister Helen was your taster.”

Mary was lost “What? But I never knew!”

“Your meals have always been tested,” the Mother responded “This most recent attempt only shows that we cannot host you here any longer. You must return to France, wed Prince Francis, and save Scotland. It is your duty.”

“But I am too young,” Mary fretted, “Scotland deserves someone more knowledgeable than me. Besides, how will I know if I love Francis?”

“Love!” scoffed the Mother, “this is not about love! This is about duty. Mary, our country was given to you at birth. The power bestowed upon you, was given by God. The French are already on their way. Mary, you are our Queen. You are Scotland’s Queen!”

The Mother rose and left, murmuring something about giving Mary sometime. Mary sat, running her fingers over the crevices in the wooden chair. She had been at the convent so long, hidden away in the wilderness of France. The years of not being deferred to had accustomed her to a normal life, and now that was going to be ripped away from her. Mary’s hands tightened around the chair arms. She was going to be responsible for an entire kingdom, an entire people that she hadn't seen since she was a babe! But, Mary was strong, and Scotland was in her blood, she reasoned. She was the Queen of Scotland.


	2. I.II

The journey to the French Castle had not been an easy one. Lola, Kenna, and Greer had departed from Scottish Court together, and traveled south, where Aylee joined them before launching the rest of the journey on ship. The days in the carriage through the unsaved forest, in addition to the weeks of turbulent waters left Lola very pleased to finally settle again.

Yet, as she stood on the paved courtyard of the palace, she was anything but thankful. The pain from holding her smile was creeping up her face, and even the lovely French sun was scorching her dark curls. As she risked a small glance at her friends, she saw Kenna was in her element. Already, she was surveying the French nobles with a fresh smile on her face. For the first time, Kenna’s olive skin and hair did not ostracize her. Lola was sure that Kenna would have no shortage of power in this new place. Cowering behind the three other girls, Aylee, on the other hand, looked lost. Lola pitied the poor girl, who flourished in the wilderness of Scotland in media res. The sugary drowsiness of French nature was not going to be good for her. Greer’s displeasure was evident in the hard glow of her eyes. Her blond friend was already unhappy at the immediate nature of the long journey, and the being mandated to stand in the sun was adding insult to injury.

The Scottish had endured a lot of that, thought Lola. The English had continued pushing North, and the French, their supposed allies had done nothing. The threat of invasion was even fracturing the unity between the Protestants and Catholics in Scotland. Lola couldn’t help but let out a scoff. Now, she was being summoned to play maid to a queen who had not stepped foot in her own country since being a child. Queen Mary had no idea of what the Scottish had been dealing with, and she was supposed to represent them to the French.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the carriage bearing Mary arrived. Lola watched as Mary stepped down. The other girls immediately flocked around her. Lola hung back, taking a second to push the thoughts ( _whatisshewearing_? _whatisonherhead_? _shelookslikeaPrincess_. _shelookslikeatherescued_. _isthisreallyher_? _isshereallymyQueen_?) away and joined the fray. She let Mary’s bright smile soothe away some of her bitterness, and hugged her long lost friend, and felt safe ( _sheis_ ).

Their greetings were interrupted by the trumpets announcing the arrival of the French royals. Lola, Greer, Aylee and Kenna stepped back deferring to Mary. Lola saw Mary’s hands fret before settling. Then, her attention shifted to King Henry, arrogantly striding with a smirk on his face, followed by his bastard son.

“Is that the Prince?” Aylee piped up.

Mary responded hesitantly “No, Francis was different.”

“Then that must be Sebastian, the King’s favored bastard,” Kenna stepped up, and as a woman with dark hair walked up behind the King, she said “and that is Diane de Portier, the King’s Mistress”.

Before anything else could be said, a young man with blond locks stepped up. Behind him, a shorter women thundered up, standing just in front of Diane. Lola recognized the look in her eyes as the one she herself tried to imitate. This was the Queen of France, the most dangerous woman in the world, this was Catherine di Medici.

Mary walked up to meet Francis with a wide smile on her face, and as they talked, so did the ladies.

“They look so in love! Maybe in France we can all find out Prince Francis’” giggled Kenna.

“Some of us aren’t looking,” responded Lola tartly. Her mind was on Colin, a boy from Aberdeen who she had grown close to.

Yet, before she could sink deeper into her longing, Greer spoke “Make no mistake. We are here to get our Queen into the game. This is not about love, this is about Mary securing power. Alliances are always shifting, and with the way Scotland is in right now, the odds are not in our favor.”

With those sobering words, the four ladies gazed out at their Queen, and at the Court which would be theirs, for better or worse.


	3. I.III

After all the presentations and Mary’s official welcome to French court, Mary and her ladies were gathered in her bedroom. The original joy at their reunion had worn low, and now the girls were facing the discomfort caused from the long separation.

Mary’s hands flitted from tracing the flower designs on the bedpost to tugging at her blue dress and adjusting the flower band in her hair. There was so much that she had wanted to say to her friends, but seeing them in front of her was a shock. The girls had grown. Kenna was no longer as thin as a wheat stalk. Now, she had grown into a willowy beauty, with long straight hair framing her delicate face. If Mary avoided her eyes, it was only because she could see Kenna’s powers in the flick of her hair and the corner of her smile. Mary wanted to keep a clear mind on her first day back. Greer and Lola also changed drastically. Their features looked the same, but Lola stood different. Her pose was no longer deferential. Instead, her head was high, and for a second Mary thought she saw contempt on her face, but the flash was so fast that she was sure she had imagined it. Greer’s eyes had turned hard, and her hands seemed more calloused. If Mary’s eyes lingered on her the most, it was only to try and asses the changes her dear friend had gone through, not to admire the power that even Mary could feel pulsing through Greer’s body.

Aylee seemed the least different. Although she had grown taller, and her body was different, Aylee’s eyes were still as wide and bright as they were when was younger. The only sign of Aylee’s magic was in the twists and turns of her hair, and the way it floated.

“So,” Mary started, “how have you been, Kenna?”

Kenna’s eyes lit up, and she started chattering about her parents back in Scotland, and her new wardrobe. As she reached the end of her roll, Kenna’s voice dropped. “Also, Madam Gunhild graduated me! She said that I was ready to use my gifts without supervision. All of us were graduated, actually.”

“Yeah Mary,” Aylee continued happily, “You are now looking at four fully fledged cailleacha!”

“Shhh!” Greer clapped her hand around Aylee’s mouth. “This is not friendly court. The walls are French, and they have ears.”

She moved back, pursing her lips at the rest of them. “You cannot be this naive! We are not at home! This is not friendly territory. You must be careful.”

“I agree,” Lola nodded. “Kenna and Aylee, you know that this is not Scotland. Magicks are not welcome here. If anyone catches us, they could sentence us to death. Our accusations would cast shame upon Mary, and give the English yet another reason to invade.”

Her warning resounded in the air, settling uncomfortably. Some time passed, and just as the silence began to turn oppressive, Mary’s sharp claps rang out

“Oh! I know, we should go exploring!”

In a short second, the tense air dissipated, and the girls all agreed, giggling. They set out, sneaking loudly past the guards and maids who had started unpacking the girls’ trunks, and began to wander deeper into the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cailleacha means witch I think


	4. I.IV

If she looked out of the corner of her eye, she could almost see Francis and her running up the bannister, giggling with no cares in the world. Mary climbed up the stairs, stopping at one of her old play rooms. She let out a wistful sigh, pushing the door open, expecting to see dusty furniture and the vestiges of her childhood.

Instead, she was greeted by the sight of Francis bent of pieces of metal on a table. Mary approached him slowly, taking in the burning fire, and warped metal. She was almost at the table when he looked up and startled.

“Mary!” He said, with his eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

“These were my old rooms,” Mary responded, urging him to remember with a smile.

Francis was not appeased by her answer, and instead retreated further into the room.

“Well, they’re not anymore,” he scolded her. “No one comes up here now.”

Mary was not one to be put off. Her brows furrowed at his answer, but instead of leaving, she also followed him deeper into the room, passing a hand over the hilts on the table.

She lifted her eyes to him, saying “No one, but you.”

A flicker of acquiescence flashed on his face, and he nodded.

Mary then asked, “What are you doing here anyway? These are very beautiful, but I didn’t think it was necessary to smith your own weapons as king. ”

Francis huffed. Silence settled for a moment, before he seemed to push the words out. “I want to be useful, and have a trade.”

He kept his eyes on the sword in his hands, unwilling to see the exasperation that had been present on his Queen Mother and King Father’s face when he had told them now on Mary’s features.

Mary’s face was not twisted in disappointment, however. Instead, she was bewildered. For Mary, the art of ruling was a skillful trade, one much harder to learn than any physical action. Still, she didn’t want to contradict her long lost friend, and the man who she would marry.

“Well, I can milk a goat,” she declared, lifting her chin, “ I can also mend clothing, cull a field, and sweep a hall.”

As Francis raised his head, bewildered by Mary’s odd declaration, the young queen finished, her voice mellowing.

“The nuns, you know.” Francis nodded and spoke, 

“It makes me feel more secure. If I ever lost my royal standing, I could make my way as a blacksmith.”

Mary was utterly confused. Who would think such terrible thoughts? Not to mention, were the Royal Family to ever lose their standing it would be unlikely that Francis would be allowed to simply live his life. She wondered if he knew this, and was simply fantasizing, or if Francis was that naive. Mary hoped it was the former. Still, she knew that she had to reassure her betrothed.

“But Francis, I’d save you,” she said innocently, looking at him. “We would flee to Scotland and rule there.” While the pair considered her words, Mary gestured towards the sword Francis had been working on. He absentmindedly waved his consent, and she grabbed sword. The hold had not yet been bound in leather or treated but that was not what bothered Mary. Even simply holding it, she could tell it was unbalanced. The blade had favored the right terribly, and would not swing true. Even lifting was a struggle, and required that Mary adjust her stance. She resolved to bring him some amethyst and agate pebbles, which would hopefully balance out the energy in the sword.

Before she could truly test out the sword however, Francis came to her side and said, “I hope I never have to take you up on your truly kind offer.” He lifted the sword from her hands, which Mary took as a dismissal.

After the pro forms goodbyes, she left the room. Francis remained, with the sword in his hands. ‘How was it possible that Mary, a queen in her own right, be so naive,’ he thought. ‘She simply wandered about the castle, with not a guard in sight, and acted as if the marriage was a true thing, and all was right in the world. She couldn’t even lift a sword!’ He placed the sword back on the table, and began tinkering with some owner scraps, truly pitying the girl and her poor country. Scotland was already on the brink of collapse, and it didn’t seem like Mary was going to be the country’s saving grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis is not trying to be mean, he is just a little condescending.


	5. I.V

Mary crouched at the edge of river, mindful of the positioning of her skirt. She had been searching for the stones to present to Francis. There were already several pebbles in her hand, and with the location of one last larger stone, she set off for the castle. There were no guards following her and only one sentry on the side door she took into the castle. Using small halls and paths, Mary quickly made her way to Francis’s chambers.

Before she could make it to the doors, however, she was stopped the guards.

“My lady, we will announce you,” one of them said.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” Mary responded, pressing forward. “I just have a small gift for him.”

Shifting her attention to the pebbles, Mary missed the shared look of discomfort between the guards. Unwilling to be further pressured by the young Queen, the guards let her pass. Mary blithely knocked at the door, surprised when Francis only opened it a crack.

“Mary! What are you doing here?” His face was pressed in the crack, his body blocking the view further into his room. “It’s not proper for you to be here alone.”

“I brought you some stones,” the girl said with a confused smile. “For your sword making.”

Before she could launch into an explanation of each rock, Mary heard a giggle from further inside the room. Her eyes flashed to Francis’s face, and she watched his face empty of color.

“Francis, is there someone in there?” Mary asked, standing on her tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of the room.

Francis responded by crowding the doorway “Mary, next time you come in my chambers you must be announced. Next time have the guards announce your presence.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Mary, repeating her earlier question. “Are you alone Francis?”

Mary was hoping to be wrong. She had remained chaste for her marriage and hoped Francis, who was also Catholic would have the same respect. It was a living nightmare of her worst personal fears. Mary didn’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage.

Instead of assuaging Mary’s concerns, Francis confirmed them. He drew himself up, visibly lifting his chin.

“Husbands do not answer wives. I am the dauphin of France and I do not answer to you!” With that, he closed the door, and

Mary was left staring at wood. The dread she had begun to feel disappeared in bubbling anger. Mary turned on her heel and stalked out of his chambers, ignoring the jump backwards the guards made in the face of her anger. ‘How dare he talk to me this way? I am his betrothed! I am the Queen of Scotland!’

Her shoes clacked as she stomped her way through the halls, letting her subconscious guide her. The more she walked, the sadder she became. Not only had Mary’s worth as a person, as a wife been questioned, but so had her country’s. Mary was the Queen of a sovereign nation, not some lady of France. Her position merited respect, yet even from the first day, she had been treated as a lady but not a queen.

Mary couldn’t help but feel some dread. The respect, or rather lack of that Scotland hand geared some watching. Mary was not an idiot. She knew her country was under siege and she wanted to save it.

Luckily, before her thoughts could fall in that particular hole, she reached a door. This was not an area of the castle that Mary had visited before, and judging by the thin dust, no one else did either. She gently pushed open the door and gasped.

The large room was mostly empty. Lining each of the sides were several wooden posts, with visible slicing and stabbing marks. It seemed like an abandoned training room. Mary walked around, tracing the perimeter and desperately wishing for the claymore stuffed in one of her trunks. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large barrel.

Upon closer inspection, there were several swords. All were a little rusty, but Mary quickly picked up one of the cleaner ones. Even just holding it, she let out a little sigh of satisfaction. ‘It was properly balanced,’ she thought not as little vindictively ‘unlike Francis’s.’

Holding the straight hilt, she swung it around, measuring the adjustments she would have to make in her grip. Then, slowly, she began to run through the forms she had been taught since she was a child. With Scotland at threat of invasion, everyone was taught at least a modicum of self defense. Then, her mother had discovered that the sight of a toddler practicing with a sword was a particularly good piece of propaganda. She had continued her practice in the nunnery, with lessons from one of the high born sisters.

Now, she began practicing again, quickly losing herself to the flurry of movements. After being rebuked and shamed, Mary felt powerful again. Even if as a lady she did not seem to command respect, Mary was confident in her swordsmanship.

Mary approached one of the training dummies and began to attack. First, she used the flat of her blade to wack at the sides of the figure. Then, she started to slice the sides, focusing on hitting the same area with each pass. With each swipe, Mary’s movements become more consuming, and her entire being was focused on the dummy.

She had been there for a while, when the slices Mary had made became too much, and the figure toppled over. With a deep sense of satisfaction, Mary stood upright, trying to regulate her heavy breathing. All of a sudden sharp claps rang up from behind her. In one graceful motion, Mary had the longsword at the neck of the intrude crossed in front her face.

The person had his hands up, and once Mary got over her adrenaline rush, she realized it was Sebastian— the king’s favored bastard. She quickly dropped the sword.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” she said. “You startled me!”

Bash didn’t seem to be offended. Hi face was lifted in mirth and he was quick to reassure her.

“Well, I knew Francis was a ass but I didn’t think it merited violence,” he joked.

Mary’s face shuttered at his mention. Sensing the change of mood, Bash tried another subject.

“You know, it’s not very ladylike to swing a sword around. It’s more like the action of some wild broad.”

Mary could not let that insult pass. Sweetly, she replied staring him down. “Well, us Scots prefer to be able to defend ourselves. But it’s alright. I see that the rumour that the French prefer softness is true.”

At that, Sebastian began to laugh.

“Another thing they say about the French is their tardiness,” he began. “However, I think that if you do not begin getting ready for the party tonight you may test even our standards.”

Mary blanched. She had completely forgotten about the wedding feast for Francis’s sister to the King of Spain. She could not afford to be late on her first day. Mary began to rush off towards the door, turning back only to thank Bash. At her gratitude, he responded

“It was a pleasure, your majesty. Perhaps some day we can practice together!”

Giggling, Mary took the time to call over her shoulder “Of course, I would love to teach you how to fight!


End file.
